


when my spark gets hot

by CopperCaravan



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperCaravan/pseuds/CopperCaravan
Summary: Deputy and Sharky meet (not for the first time, actually) at the disco inferno. AKA Sharky tries to impress the wrong Deputy in a million of the worst ways.





	when my spark gets hot

**Author's Note:**

> -When are we getting an NB category???? WHEN????  
-Hey, ok, where's the Far Cry fic that isn't smut? Like. Where is that? Does it exist?   
-My computer is still broken. Ha. "Still." Like it can be fixed. Ha. Correction: my computer is just broken and I haven't been able to replace it. I wrote this on my phone. Idk how some of y'all can manage that. I never wanna do it again. Hats off to those of y'all who just. write like that on the reg.

“Boshaw, you crazy fuckin’ pyro! What the fuck were you _doin’_?”

Over the last three days, Dani’s killed more people than they ever thought they’d have to over the course of their whole life. But they haven’t yet killed so many that it doesn’t still hurt. They know that day is probably coming—soon—but it ain’t come yet.

And these angels…

“Hey, come on now,” Boshaw says, like Dani’s being the unreasonable one. Like barbequing a bunch of doped up civilians makes any kinda sense. “Was just a little Disco Inferno, you know? A little Burning Man. A little—”

“A little gruesome fuckin’ murder is what it was.” Dani flips over a body, wincing at the literal dead weight and dull _thud_. It’s not her.

“They tried to gruesomely murder me first, man! Garden hoes and shit!” He’s just standing there with his stupid po’rigged flamethrower at his feet and Dani wants to punch him in the face. But they shake their head and check another dead angel. Not her.

“Only ‘cause you agitated ‘em.” Everybody knows angels don’t do shit unless you provoke them. They just wander around, mindless and empty eyed, doing what they’re told or walking their path or dozing in the Bliss fields. If he’d never played that damn music—and why _here_? Why’d it have to be _here_? “What the hell are you even doin’ here, anyway?” Another body. Not her.

He shrugs. “The hell you so bent outta shape for? Ain’t like nobody even lives here anymore.”

“_I _do, you stupid bastard!” Another angel. Not her. “You got your stupid rig set up over _my _fucking house!” Dani points at one of the RV’s he’s used to construct his little catwalk. Ain’t a _house_, no, and sure wasn’t ever no proper _home _neither but that ain’t his fuckin’ business.

That seems to give him pause. Dani’s grateful for that at least, since nothin’s come outta his mouth that wasn’t stupid as shit. They flip over another angel. This one’s burned so bad that Dani has to hold their hand over their mouth just to block out the smell. But it’s not her either.

“Oh.” He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that…”

Dani just rolls their eyes and heads over to the last body. Anxiety twists their gut, but they push it down—deep—and turn the face up into the light.

It’s not her.

They stay frozen in place for a second, the angel’s chin in hand, and just stare at a face they don’t know. The relief is matched only by the guilt. This poor bastard’s dead and Dani has the gall to be relieved. Maybe Boshaw ain’t the only stupid, selfish bastard in this trailer park.

“You, uh—you know ‘em?” His boots come to a stop next to Dani’s knee, pressed into the yellow dirt.

“No,” they say, finally standing up. The head slumps back onto the ground, neck bent awkwardly. “I gotta go,” they tell him, not bothering look back when they start walking away. “Try not to fuckin’ torch the place any more than you already have.”

“Uh, wait!” The urgency in his voice surprises them both; when Dani turns back around, he’s almost as wide-eyed as they are. “I mean—where you going?”

“The jail.” They don’t know why they tell him. That’s not his business either. “Unc—The Sheriff’s out there; I gotta report in.”

“You’re a fuckin’ _cop_? Ah, shit!” He adjusts the brim of his cap, trying to downplay the outburst.

“Nobody’s got the time to care about your stupid warrant. In case you haven’t noticed,” they say, hands spread wide and gesturing to all the shit around them, “we got bigger problems than some arson and public drunkenness.”

“Well, uh, yeah. There’s that.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks past them, toward the road. “I got a jeep. If you want. Back at my place. Ain’t far.”

Dani watches him, quiet. Then they nod and turn back away, waving him along. They can hear the shuffle of his sneakers in the dirt, and the slight grunt as he hefts his stupid flamethrower over his shoulder.

When he falls into step beside them, Dani glances at him out of the corner of their eye. He puts his free hand to his heart and grins. “I am Charlemagne Vic—”

“I know who ya are, Boshaw.”

“Oh. ‘Cuz of you bein’ the po-po an’ all.”

“No, idiot. I’ve lived down the fuckin’ road from you for more than twenty years.”

“Huh? Oh.” He looks back over his shoulder at the trailer park, grimacing. “Right.”

_Jesus Fuckin’ Christ. _Dani rolls their eyes—probably not for the last time—and finally just turns all their attention to the road ahead. Fuckin’ Sharky Boshaw.

A moment of wonderful silence passes.

And then it ends. “How come I don’t remember you, though? I used to hang out back there all the time.”

They exhale. Calmly. So calm. Fists unclench, jaw slackens, shoulders roll._ Calm._ “Well, I didn’t.” They _have _met. A few times, in fact. Not that he’d remember though. Clearly.

They know he knows he’s working their nerves. Their last one. But he isn’t deterred. “Why not?”

It’s that friendly tone that’s really starting to do it. If he wanted to be _friendly, _he’s had plenty of time to before now. Could’ve been friendly when they up and moved back here all those years ago and Dani was all alone. Could’ve been friendly any of those times Dani got tossed out of the house and didn’t have anywhere to go. Could’ve been friendly any of those times they met and actually _remembered Dani’s fuckin’ name_. Could’ve been friendly an hour ago and not roasted a bunch of angels to death like hot dogs over a garbage fire. Could’ve been friendly and known that Dani’s doped up mom might’ve been one of ‘em.

“I had better shit to do,” they say, stretching their fingers to avoid making fists all over again. “Mind your own business.”

He lets out a low whistle—that sound men make when they act like shits and then want you to feel unreasonable for callin’ ‘em out on it. Makes Dani wanna punch him even more than they already did. But at least he doesn’t talk anymore. And as they turn into his driveway, Dani sees the jeep, complete with a very convenient gun mount on the back. When the hell did he have that put on there? Can’t have been too long.

“We oughta make a pit stop before we giddyup,” he says.

“We?”

“Yeah. I gotta piss somethin’ awful,” he answers, ignoring the actual question. He yanks the door open and steps to the side, bowing low and dramatic and gesturing Dani inside. “Sir—uh, Madam—uh, after you.”

That sufficiently butchered about as much as it could’ve possibly been, Dani takes a deep—_calming_—breath and steps inside, Boshaw right behind. “Grab ya a beer or somethin’, man. Got some in the fridge. I think.”

He walks past them, gesturing toward the fridge as he goes.

“I don’t drink on duty.”

Boshaw doesn’t seem to hear them. Or he’s not paying attention. Not that that’s at all surprising. He disappears into what Dani assumes is a bathroom and they think briefly about stealing his jeep and leaving him here. He’s kind of a dick, but Dani’d like to think they aren’t. At least not in the steal-your-car kinda way. Still, they hadn’t anticipated Boshaw actually wanting to come along. Of course, they hadn’t anticipated coming home to find a bunch of people getting burned alive to the beat of classic rock either.

They do open the fridge though, hoping for a bottle of cold water. No luck.

They fold their arms over their chest, realizing afterward that this is what those interrogation trainers would call “defensive, closed-off body language.” They look around, taking in the pizza boxes and the smoke butts and the half-empty bottles. Pillows spread out in front of the couch, shoes piled up by the door, videogames stacked next to the TV. They unfold their arms, instead stuffing their hands into the pockets of their jacket. Feels awkward, but something about coming off as “defensive” really rubs them wrong. They _are _defensive—don’t take a genius to see that, though it clearly takes someone with more awareness than Sharky Fuckin’ Boshaw—but that don’t mean they want people being smug about it. The fuck do those folks know anyhow?

There’s a flush and then Boshaw’s back in view, drying his hands on his pants. “You ready?” He grins. Like they’re friends or something. Like Dani’s over here to play games and smoke weed.

“Let’s just go.”

He follows them back out the door, grabbing a set of keys off a hook as they go. “You wanna drive, homie?”

God, yes. They nod, trying not to show just how relieved they are. At first, they’re surprised by the offer, but when Boshaw tosses them the keys and hops up onto the back with the gun, the surprise quickly fades. He lets out a _whoop _and as suddenly as the corner of their mouth starts to curve in amusement, they shut that shit down. Hard.

“Don’t fuckin’ murder anybody else while you’re up there.”

“What about if, uh, some Peggies start shootin’ at us or, like, a bear starts chasin’ us, or—”

Dani holds up a hand. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Murder. Anybody. Else. Today.”

He gives a half-hearted salute, but says “You got it, Dep.”

Dani climbs into the driver’s seat and the damn ignition sticks. They try a second time to turn the key. Nothing. A third time. Still stuck. A _fourth _time.

“Fuck!”

“You gotta wiggle it a little bit,” Sharky yells from behind them.

“I _am_!” A fifth time, yanking it much harder now.

“No, dude! A lighter touch, man! Like you’re caressing a beautiful lady.”

Dani yanks on the key again and jerks their head round to look up at him.

He shrugs, hands up in pre-emptive surrender. “Or a handsome dude. Whatever you’re into.”

“I’m _into _getting to the fucking jail. What the fuck’s up with your stupid car, Boshaw?”

“Ok, just wiggle it. Like, just a little bit—_gently._ And like, sorta pull the wheel toward you a little bit.”

Dani exhales and turns back to the wheel, _gently _wiggling the key in the ignition and using their other hand to pull the steering wheel. Doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything, but then, suddenly—infuriatingly—the key turns and the damn thing cranks.

“Hey, uh, you ain’t gonna like, try to lock me up when we get there, right?”

“Not today,” Dani says, jerking the car into gear and stomping on the gas. Sharky yelps as he’s yanked around by the momentum but the ring around the gun holds him mostly in place as Dani speeds out of the driveway, dust flying behind them.


End file.
